


A Fear Unfounded

by merryfortune



Category: Rune Factory 4
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: Over a picnic lunch, Margaret asks Forte a question close to both their hearts.
Relationships: Forte/Margaret (Rune Factory)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	A Fear Unfounded

**Author's Note:**

> uh set before Arc 2, just for clarification.

Forte was stunned when she arrived at the lake to the west of town. Margaret seemed to relish her surprise as Forte, clinking armour and swishing dress and picnic basket and all, drew in closer to where Margaret had set up not a camp but a picnic.

She looked the perfect picture of hedonism, sprawled out as it were on a check stripe blanket, light and cottony with interlocking colours of white, pastel pink, and cherry red. She also had a woven straw picnic basket nearby, as well as her lute, all entwines with flowers and her love of music. She laughed blithely when Forte lugged her own basket towards her at the glistening lake’s edge; delicately so, her delicate hand in front of her lips.

“I couldn’t stop Kiel; the moment I mentioned that you wanted to go on a picnic, he insisted on making some treats for me to share with you.” Forte sheepishly explained as she knelt down awkwardly and joined Margaret on the picnic blanket.

“Now we definitely have enough to feed an army.” Margaret joked.

“As Selphia’s sole knight, I will certainly prove that. I won’t let a single morsel go to waste.” Forte sounded as though she were taking some grim vow upon saying that but her earnestness only amused Margaret further.

It also endeared her further. That was her ever so serious Forte, alright. She wouldn’t have this young woman any other way.

“May I?” Margaret asked once the moment had cooled off from the japes and the like.

“Of course.” Forte replied and she let Margaret have at her picnic basket. Meanwhile, almost gluttonously, Forte made her move on Margaret’s picnic basket. She glanced back towards the elf. “May I?” The words barely left her mouth, she was near soundless as her hands grappled the vine-stricken handle.

“Yes, of course.” Margaret replied

“Thank you muchly.” Forte beamed; even her happier expressions grave.

Margaret was quick to find cupcakes stocked in Forte’s larder of a picnic basket. She was all to overjoyed to peel back the waxy casing and eat it. The plush cake’s sweetness danced on her tastebuds and was quick to disappear as Margaret had a swift appreciation for the flavour of it.

“Simply scrumptious!” she crooned, clasping her cheek in her hand, crumbs splayed over her chubby cheeks. “My compliments to the chef.”

“Kiel will be pleased to hear that, though let’s pray that he doesn’t develop an ego over it, I adore him but I’m certain he would be insufferable.” Forte smiled.

“All boys - even men - are like that though but I truly do love Kiel’s baking, it is a very narrow second to Porcoline; he will be an excellent chef once he matures a bit more.” Margret continued to gush.

“Yes, I agree.” Forte murmured, head dipping slightly as she contemplated whether the accent taste to the egg sandwich that she had taken from Margaret’s picnic basket was mustard or not.

Unlike Margaret, Forte has opted for a savoury option first. She thought it was gauche to have sweets before something decent, but for once, not to protect her image. Margaret knee her too well for that which was why she could eat freely, without prettiness or essential etiquette making that maybe the order of food eaten didn’t really matter. But it was probably, no, almost certainly, mustard in her mashed egg sandwich which really was delectable.

“It’s a splendid afternoon, don’t you think?” Margaret asked Forte quietly.

“It is. Your foresight to pick today of all days for this get together is impeccable, Margaret.” Forte said.

“Thank you. I did put a lot of thought into it. I chose today because it’s still summer but is nicely on the cusp of autumn, making for beautiful sunshine and crisp weather without being painfully warm.” Margaret explained; her face drew lines of concern. “I worry about you in summer, seeing you in all that armour. I understand why but still. I worry.”

“I know but my constitution is vast.” Forte assured her.

That bittersweet grimace didn’t disappear from Margaret’s face. That, in turn, concerned Forte. Margaret’s fist clenched by her side and Forte suspected that this wasn’t the saccharine outing which she thought that she had been invited out onto. It was just like Margaret to play games like this; to set the mood right, create a lull of false sense of security so that she may exploit emotional and conversational vulnerability. She didn’t like open confrontation, after all, as it was too violent for her. And it was just like Forte to fall straight into such a social faux pas of a trap. That was how she played Margaret’s games, after all. After all, she didn’t like underhanded means of working out aggression, preferring the simplicity which came with the swing of a sword against a foe.

“I want to support you and your endeavours as a knight, but I worry about you.” Margaret said.

“Fear not. I am strong.” Forte said with her chest puffed out. It wasn’t a boast, she possessed far too much humility to boast but it was not arrogance to be rightfully confident as her abilities as a swordswoman were without match, in Selphia at least.

“I know. You are very strong but...” Margaret murmured. “But I’ve been thinking, with Frey as our acting princess, I fear that your glory is tarnishing as more people rely on her rather than you to keep our town safe. You patrol every night and just looking at you fills people with ease. People who are not me, at least.”

“Margaret...” Forte didn’t know how to reply to that.

“You work tirelessly, thanklessly. At least I, when I busk or when I perform at Porcoline’s, I get tipped but no one ever does so much for you.” Margaret continued.

“I don’t mind. I don’t need to be paid or thanked. My pride is all that I need.” Forte gently rebuked Margaret.

“I can wait endlessly, you know, but can you?” asked Margaret, tears shimmered in her eyes.

Her sudden shift in conversation caught Forte off guard. “Can I wait for what?”

Margaret was silent. Thinking. Grimacing. The sunlight overhead seemed far too sharp, all of a sudden, with an unbearable heat gracing them thickly. Yet a breeze blew around them, cooling them, nonetheless. It rustled the leaves of the trees and the grass too, toyed with their hair as Forte waited for Margaret to come to some explanation both in her head and in her voice.

“Elves are very long lived compared to other humans...” Margaret murmured. “But normal humans are so short lived compared to Elves. I can wait, wait for you to retire so that I don’t have to worry about you being injured, or worse, but can you?”

“Margaret, I do not follow what you’re asking of me.” Forte sounded like her heart was breaking, she was fighting back tears.

“I love you, Forte.” Margaret confessed empathetically, placing a hand on her breast.

Forte’s eyes widened as the words continuously rang through her head like an echo. Over and over. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Oh.” she murmured, gaping, really.

Margaret looked away from Forte, “I love you now, I know I will love you in many years to come, but I just fear that our circumstances might keep us apart. I find it unideal, to merely pine for you until your duties are done.”

“Why… Why do you think my duties as a knight have to be concluded for us to be together?” Forte asked.

“Selfishness, mostly. I can’t distract our most dependable knight, after all.” Margaret was lying; though, there was likely a nugget of truth in what she had said, the way more tears streamed down the side of her face betrayed her. She pawed at them, hopeless. “You were an illicit affair, yes? Your mother had Kiel at an advanced age, compared to you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your losses. Even all this time later, I am.” Margaret said. “But from them, I assumed that it was wrong for a knight to show that much emotion, attachment to people like that. I thought a knight, especially one as prominent and dear to us as you, were expected to uphold all values and virtues, including chastity.”

Her explanation followed to reason. The underlying implication that Margaret perceived Forte as just and noble flattered her. But it was in that explanation that Forte saw where her dear companion faltered. Ever sure of her perceptions of her the world, it took a lot to convince her of contrary evidence and the like, completely unlike another elf who shall not be named, Margaret prided herself on the vision she carried and sometimes exerted over others.

“Whilst it is true that a knight ought to be a paragon of virtue, there is no rule disallowing fraternising with the general populace. We have codes of honour for that too, my lady.” Forte told her.

Margaret prickled to hear that, her lips pursed in surprise. It appears that she had wasted tears but Forte thought otherwise. She leaned in and wiped away what remained of those shed tears in Margaret’s forget-me-not coloured eyes. She smiled gently beneath her choppy and blunt fringe.

“Thank you kindly for your consideration but you are mistaken, I am afraid. Your observations, whilst keen, have misled you. Though I will admit, I find it rather romantic that you are certain that you could wait for me but fortune smiles on your field, you do not have to wait a single second longer for me if you wish to court me.” Forte told her.

Perhaps Margaret should have been embarrassed for coming to such conclusions, but she wasn’t. Only relief coloured her cheeks pink as she found her empathetic reply, replying with her whole chest.

“I truly don’t want to spend a second longer, Forte, thank you, I love you.”

Her words were sweet but her kiss sweeter. She caressed Forte’s face as she kissed her so swift to cross the middle of the picnic blanket, over the basket and over the distance of all those years alone that Margaret had envisioned would divide them, so lonely.

Margaret kissed Forte ardently. Her passion was dulcet, and Forte could not crave it more. Margaret’s kiss was divine. Experienced and yet new; for the first time, in a way. Forte became intoxicated on the floral perfume which drifted around her lover. Her lover. It felt sublime to acknowledge that, even quietly in her own mind, as she was kissed. She felt as though she had become a new woman with a renewed sense of what she heroically owed her dear hometown.

Forte broke the kiss. She wished very much that she didn’t have to but alas, she needed breath. But this was a breathlessness like she had never known before. She often felt satisfied with how she painted after a particularly challenging round of training, but this was different. Though it did set her heart racing, quite similarly. No, this was something more tender than steel blades and broken hilts. It was more precious, like flowers and cakes. She smiled though, unguarded and somewhat grateful.

“I really enjoyed that, Meg.” Forte said.

“I did too.” Margaret chortled. “Though you tasted like mustard and egg salad.”

Forte blushed. “My apologies.”

“You’ll just have to fix that then.” Margaret told her, both playful and uppity. So, on Forte’s behalf, she retrieved another cupcake from the picnic basket bearing sweets.

Forte received it graciously and without her usual, and forced, bellyaching. “I suppose I shall.” She then sank her teeth into the treat.

She smiled a little wider, a little bigger, as she ate the cupcake. Seeing that made Margaret happier than Forte could know, but what made her happiest of all was knowing that this was all happening in the present. And not some precarious far off future. It was good, even great, she thought, to enjoy things in the moment.


End file.
